More than Human
by PathlessSpore
Summary: Since her youth Nylora was always the unspoken outcast, even among her brotherhood of Demon Hunters. Yet, destiny calls her to much greater things in life; to a journey of self discovery, the past of her mother, and to meet the long lost father she never knew. /A repost of an old version of this fiction. ImperiusxOC / Hurt/Comfort/Family/Romance


More Than Human  
Diablo Fanfiction  
Imperius/OC  
Family/Adventure/Hurt/Comfort  
Chapter 1  
Here I am

_It's a new day, Its a new start_  
_It's alive with the beating of a young heart  
_  
_Here I am - Bryan Adams_

* * *

Scosglen was her home. It had always been as such since she was little, adventuring among the ancient trees of her homeland. Dark wood creaked at her passage, the boughs filtering sunlight through their leaves to paint the forest floor in cascades of shadow. Whatever lay beyond the village she called home, or beyond the woods, never held an interest to her. All that she needed was here, and Nylora was happy.

Her mornings followed the same routine. She would wake to her mother's singing and find her laboring over breakfast for the pair of them. Hearty stew, or fresh fruits and vegetables her mother gathered from their garden. Laughter and shared kisses between the pair of them, lost in their happy little world.

Her mother, Lydia, would start her daily chores then. Sweeping, cleaning, tending to the garden outside. Occasionally, someone from the village would come seeking aid, bringing a basket of goods as payment. What they needed varied from day to day; once Nylora watched as she was called to the village to help an expectant mother give birth. Other times it was sickness that swept through the village, brought by a foreigner.

Lydia was gifted in her craft. Her knowledge of the healing arts were unmatched, and Nylora yearned to one day follow in her footsteps.  
And she taught her daughter little things. Like how to bind little wounds, or identify a sickness. What plants could be used to ease pain, to prevent pregnancy, or to even help someone ease their passing into the next world. Yes, Lydia was extremely gifted in her craft.

Yet, it did not mean she was loved.

Nylora noticed the curses as they passed. The holy symbols they made whenever they walked into a house. But her mother cared little for their superstitions, and by extent she as well. The village needed Lydia, it was as simple as that.

And everything carried on in the world, same as it always did.

Yet today, it was a special day. After all, her mother told her she only turned eleven once. Like every morning she woke to hear her mother singing, working on breakfast before they started their daily chores. A sweet song, full of love and life. When Lydia sang it lit up the room. Quickly, Nylora scrambled from bed to help her mother.

Her mother was the prettiest woman in the world. Chestnut brown hair twined with strands of silver in a long braid that fell over her shoulders. At her approach Lydia looked up, dark eyes sparkling at the sight of her as a smile broke out over pale skin. She reached out and brought Nylora into a warm hug and the comforting scent of her mother put her at ease.

"Now what has you up so early today." She teased warmly, hands running through Nylora's own silky black hair. The young girl giggled, kissing her mothers cheek,

"It's my birthday." She chastised, a look of mock surprise flashing across Lydia's features.

"No," she gasped, "I distinctly remember it being next week."

"Silly Momma, its today!"

Lydia laughed, throwing her head back, "Well if you say so then it must be true." She suddenly grabbed her daughter beneath the arms, hauling her up into the air, Nylora being the small thing that she was made it easy. "Well then, my birthday girl, what would you like today? Anything your heart desires."

Nylora pondered the question, quite unsure. She had everything she wanted. A kiss on the cheek and she was brought back to stand on her feet. A wiggle of her finger and Lydia disappeared into the back room, her bedroom, and returned mere moments later. She held a simple wooden box in her hand that she gave to Nylora.

She looked up at her mother, who simply motioned for her to open it. Inside, nestled against soft fabric lay an ornate medallion made of the brightest gold she'd ever laid eyes upon. She could hear a soft hum in her ears as she brought it from the box to hold it gingerly in her hands.

"What is it, Momma?"

Lydia had a sad look in her eyes as she sat in a nearby chair, and patted her lap. Nylora obeyed and settled into her mothers embrace. Practiced fingers unclasped the chain to lace it around Nylora's neck, the medallion hanging heavily on her chest.

"It was your father's" she said softly, sadly. "He was a warrior, proud and strong. When we met he had been wounded in battle, and I nursed him back to health. We fell in love, but he could not stay Nylora."

She knew this story. Lydia told it to her once, but the tears in her mother's eyes kept her from asking more questions.

"Before he left, he gave me this. To always remember him by. Now, today its yours. He would want you to have it. It will always protect you, Nylora."

The little girl smiled and clutched the medallion close to her, and heard it hum in her hands. Warmth spread to her fingers and toes, as if she could feel his arms wrap around her in a hug. A kiss to her hair and she was once again her feet. A basket was suddenly in her hands, filled with sweets and flowers her mother had made and gathered the night before. She lay a warm towel over the goods,

"Why don't you go visit the Great Forest Spirit," she said as she moved to the hearth, stoking the embers into a roaring fire, "And see if he has anything to give you for your birthday?"

Nylora felt her eyes grow wide with excitement, and she nodded vigorously. As she turned to run out the door, basket clutched in hand, a final warning followed after her,  
"Remember, be respectful and the forest shall never harm you."

* * *

The ancient forest was a place not for the faint of heart. Powers beyond imagining lay in the misty woods, waiting for the unspecting to claim their destiny. Or so her mother often liked to tell her. But she was right in a sense, the woods were a dangerous place for the unprepared. The village she called home lay on the outskirts of the dense forests, close to the desert regions beyond the border.

If one were to walk further and further into the trees they would find all manner of terrifying creatures. Nylora remembered the stories of the passing druids resting from their treks in the deep wood, horrifying tales of trees coming to life with a bloodlust. Wood Wraiths her mother called them, the spirits of the unhappy dead possessing the ancient forest.

And that was only one such beast to be wary of.

But Lydia, and by extension Nylora, had no fear of the forest.

For the Great Spirit that watched over Scosglen had blessed her mother with his protection, a gift for all the good she passed through the wood. For all her talent in the healing arts, Lydia's true gift was to see and speak to the hidden spirits of the forest, and in the elements themselves. Over her long years her mother nurtured her friendship with the residents of the wood, solving problems between them and the people.

Nylora recalled more than once her mother running into the village to take care an infestation of one sort or another, bringing back giggling sprites in her arms.

The sun was climbing higher and higher into the sky as the early morning gave way to the afternoon. Nylora followed the path into the wood that wound down into a misty valley, over a river, and eventually came to a stop at the entrance of a mine. It had been abandoned long ago, miners fearful of the knockers that lived within. Mischievous spirits that loved to scare people, her mother warned, their job was to safeguard the entrance into their peaceful Home Valley. Something the miners had come close to discovering.

Nylora squeezed through a loose board, taking care not to spill the contents of the basket. To the naked eye, the mine would be very dark. But Nylora could see the little sprites lighting the way to the Valley. And even if there had been no spirits, her father's medallion around her neck shone brightly in the dark.

The Knockers were active today, throwing rocks and hitting the support beams. None of it deterred the determined little girl as she traveled farther and farther back into the mine shaft. From somewhere beyond the darkness a flicker of light came into view, a small crevice she could easily squeeze through, something an adult would be hard pressed to do.

On the other side lay a sight most wouldn't be able to put into words. Lights of every color hung from the trees, the sky in perpetual sunrise, and spirits of every kind flittering between ancient tree trunks and from bough to bough. Nylora could hear them sigh at her entrance, many of them running to tell the Great Forest Spirit of her arrival.  
She found him in the heart of the valley, sitting on a throne of twisted wood and leaves. Mortals like Nylora and her mother were incapable of seeing his face clearly. A shimmer of magic made her eyes burn at the merest glance, so she kept her eyes trained away.

"I hear tale that is the eleventh year of your birth." His deep voice grumbled as she came to kneel mere feet away from his throne. She nodded eagerly, offering out the meager basket to him. So vast he was that he merely had to lean forward to pluck it from her grasp.

"As always," he lifted the warm towel with careful fingers, "Your mother knows just how to please my sweet tooth."

From above him, with the vast boughs littered with leaves and flowers, he reached up to the great tree and plucked a purple flower from it. He lay it back into the basket, now empty of its previous contents, wrapping the towel carefully over it.

"I assume that is what your mother wanted." He said cryptically, to which Nylora had no answer for. "Now, it is the day of your birth, and I can only assume your mother sent you here to coerce a gift from me. Tell me, little one, why do you deserve such a gift from one as grand as I?"

Nylora shook her head, "With all due respect, lord, I don't desire a gift from you. I have everything I want."

He laughed, a kind hearted one, "Now there is a refreshing change, never have you been one to demand things. Very much like your mother, in that respect. Your father was a different matter entirely. Proud, and demanding. Showing no fear in the face of my wrath. That you share with him, and that fearlessness will get you far Nylora."

She knew this story too. When her father was trying to recover from his wounds, Lydia had gone to the Great Forest Spirit for aid. At first they'd been denied which added to her father's ire. The argument that ensued was a great one, leveling trees and creature alike. Yet despite the power of the Great Forest Spirit her father had never swayed, never backed down, and showed no fear. Earning the begrudging respect from the Ruler of the Forest.

"Regardless of your desires," Continued the ancient spirit, "I shall grant you these gifts three. The first is my protection; much like that of your mother you have shown to be a true friend of the forest. So long as you walk these hollowed and ancient lands know that here you will never come to harm. The second is a blessing for a long life and good health."

He touched her brow, and a wash of power unlike she'd ever known before swept over her. He pulled back to sit straight upon his throne,

"The third is a glimpse into your future."

The small child gasped as her vision went dark. Slowly, a great winding road shimmered into view and by some unknown power she found herself walking along it. For a long time darkness lay on either side of the road until, ever so faintly, shadowy images began to take form.

She didn't understand what they meant, these grotesque figures she couldn't place. Voices so many in number she could barely make out what they were saying. But among the loudest she could hear.

_Nephalem..._

It startled her and she turned back towards the road, splitting itself in two. One veering right, and the other left. Standing in the middle, a lone figure in billowing black robes with its face hidden from her. In its right hand, a sickle.

_Choose Nephalem..._

Nylora looked down each path, both dark and confusing, wondering what the figure wanted her to choose as the silence stretched onto eternity. Then, by some unknown hand, a force guided her forward.

And through the figure, who disappeared into smoke, and tumbling off the road into unknown darkness.

* * *

_A/N: A rewrite of the original, hopefully I can do this story justice this time around. _


End file.
